


Reckless

by keeper0fthestars



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Just Sex, Narcos - Freeform, Pedro Pascal - Freeform, Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Sort Of, he also likes when you surprise him, i wanted to fuck Javi and here we are, if you came here looking for plot i am sorry, javier peña - Freeform, nothing else to see, there is no plot here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23340241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeper0fthestars/pseuds/keeper0fthestars
Summary: two idiots who can't keep their hands off each other
Relationships: Javier Peña/You
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31





	Reckless

The immaculate black car is exactly where you expect it to be, on Level 3 next to the massive concrete pillar painted with a green letter H.

As always, his car is the last one left at the end of the day. Academy grads were rarely brought in on cases in the city, at least not for as long as you’ve been here, but Javier Peña was not like the others. Crushing top honors in both intelligence and field tactics, he’d registered for your International Spec’s Training class on top of his full work load, ‘for the hell of it,’ he’d said, and something told you he didn’t want to end up back in Texas. He’d left behind some large shoes to fill in Laredo and whatever had happened back there was something he never talked about, but the way he smoked and the way he fucked gave you a few ideas. He might have been the new kid on the block here now, but he wasn’t green; already on everyone’s radar all of a sudden, he just didn’t know it yet.

The perks with this job don’t come easy, but at least for now it’s a schedule he can keep up with. It also means there is a good chance you’ll know where he’ll be on any given day. The upper levels of the parking garage are mostly open to the air, but because of this stifling heat, it’s like an oven in here at this time of day. Late summer in the city is nothing short of brutal but at least your dress is loose and you don’t care that the gauzy fabric is way too short; it’s the only thing keeping you cool today. You remove your sunglasses for a second to wipe the beads of sweat along the bridge of your nose. Leaning back on the front fender of his car, you wait.

It’s not long before you hear the heavy clank of a steel door followed by steady footsteps from somewhere far behind. You resist the urge to turn and make sure it’s him. Immediately, the footsteps stop and everything goes quiet and you swear you hear a faint snort before the paces continue in your direction, getting louder. Lifting your head to the side, you watch as he rounds the back of the car and stops in front of you. You can’t see his eyes from behind the dark ovals of his sunglasses but you know he’s shocked as hell to see you because as far as he knows, you should still be in Miami interviewing new recruits. He knows better than to ask how you even got in here, but he also knows your clearance exceeds his.

Soft grey wisps are rising from a depleted cigarette dangling between this thumb and his forefinger and you bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. Dark hair falling to the side over his forehead, curling softly behind his ears and down the back of his neck. It takes considerable effort on your part to appear unaffected by his black shirt with two, no three buttons undone, short sleeves hugging his shoulders and arms, beat up jeans dangerously low on his hips matching his scuffed boots and badge hooked to the side of his belt.

“Need a ride?” he smirks.

Stupid perfect voice. You will never get over how that smooth deep sound reroutes every ounce of blood in your body and forces it to swell between your legs. But the sight of the thick scruff on his top lip also does that to you and after a week away from the man, it’s a wonder you’ve not already attached yourself to his hips. Or his face. You cross one leg over the other, in an attempt to squeeze them together and relieve the pressure, resting the toe of your shoe on your other foot. He notices because his mustache moves a fraction, his tongue scraping along his top teeth.

“Maybe,” you shrug, licking your bottom lip. “If this guy I’m fucking doesn’t show up soon.” 

He is completely still except for a twitch of his eyebrow. He clears his throat, lifting the cigarette to his mouth for one last pull, before dropping it to the concrete and stamping it out.

“Are you expecting him soon?” he plays along, amused now, knowing two more casual strides is all it would take to be standing right over you.

“Mmm, hope so…”

“Well…,” he starts, “why anyone… would possibly want to keep you waiting in some dingy parking garage is beyond me…” he drags out the words, his voice dropping again.

“In his defence, though, I am early…slightly. But, don’t tell him that.”

"Don’t tell him what?” he repeats your words, an edge to his voice. “That his girl must have gotten on an earlier flight and gets home a good twelve hours before she’s supposed to?” 

His girl. Your stomach bottoms out.

He scratches his cheek, boots rasping across the concrete, once, twice, and he stops, all his weight braced on one leg, bending his elbows, both hands cocked on his hips. He’s now looming over you so close you can taste the cigarette, his mouth using up all the available oxygen around you. He likes this.

His fingers skating along his bottom lip, he tilts his head to the side, the cords along one side of his neck softly emerging. From the new wave of heat washing through you, his eyes are taking their sweet time, wandering down your legs and back up. “And wearing this dress, his favourite dress…with these legs that look good enough to eat.” 

You’ve never considered yourself easy. Well, that’s a lie, the right man has never had to try too hard. But now. Like this? Never. Not to mention how incredibly reckless this whole thing was, three months of bathroom stalls, backseats, file rooms, your lecture room minutes before class, even your office at lunch had witnessed your single-minded impulses. And repercussions be damned, you both couldn’t stop it. You knew, you’d tried.

You’re not capable of a reply just yet, so instead, you reach up and grab the silver rims of his sunglasses, stopping to briefly caress the soft hair at his temples. You slowly pull them off his face, fold them together, and hang them on the neckline of your dress.

“His favourite dress?” You tease, trying to speak around the hammering pulse in your ears. You catch his dark stare over the top of your sunglasses. His pupils have already swallowed up all the dark brown flecks like he definitely wants to devour you.

“Tell me,” he starts, lifting your sunglasses off your face, reaching to the side and placing them carefully on the roof of the car. “What do you think he’s gonna say when he finds her here, leaning her sweet ass against his car like this?”

“That she’s looking to get herself fucked.” The words escape before you can think.

A tiny scoff of air leaves his throat and it’s probably the hottest sound you’ve ever heard. His mouth twitches and one side of his mustache crooks up and it makes your head fucking soar that he’s speechless for a second. You place your hands on the glossy black paint job, push off the floor and place yourself gently on the hood of the car. Your dress covers just enough of your ass as you slide backward until the backs of your knees hit the shiny chromed edge, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the amount of bare skin sitting on his car at the moment. The game is making you bold. Palms flat on the car; you lock your elbows and wait for his response.

“So?” he clears his throat finally, back in control, a teasing tone dripping from his mouth. “Is this plan of hers is gonna work?”

"A girl can dream.”

He leans the bulking mass of his thighs heavily on your kneecaps, making your skin prickle, sending tingles around your ass and up into your hairline. His hands come down on the hood of the car, trapping you on either side, the wicked flare in his eyes promising you’re going to have things to answer for later and if you’d been wearing panties, they’d be soaked by now. 

The upper hand is a wonderful thing, every inch of you buzzing. But all you want is that perfect fucking mouth on you and you cannot stand it any longer, you need to touch him. With one finger you trail down the row of buttons at the top of his shirt and straight down the middle of his abdomen not stopping until it hits the belt of his jeans. Fuck, he’s warm. The last coherent thought in your head congeals for one more moment. “But… he’s got this awful jealous streak,” you say slowly, “don’t wanna be around when he shows up.“

Your hand lingers there hooking inside the warmth of his waist. It takes all the self-control you have not to reach inside and grab what’s waiting below just beyond your fingertips. The way his jaw clenches, and his throat bobs, makes you wish you had because seeing that hard bulge just beyond your reach draws your tongue out to fill the space between your lips. He’s crowding you on all sides pushing your knees together, his scent drowning you. He could keep this going for as long as you let him, or more accurately, as long as he wants. And he wants this. It takes a full second before he relaxes his grip on the edge of the car and gives you a reply.

“Something tells me she would like to see him jealous,” he leaves his mouth open, rolling his tongue over his bottom lip.

Using your hand still nestled inside his belt as leverage, you pull myself forward, coming just a breath away from his mouth. "He’s terribly possessive. Over everything that’s his.” You gently pry one of his hands off the hood of the car and place it just under your ribs and he can feel how your hand trembles, how your ribs are practically shuddering with the effort of breathing, his eyes drawn to the path his hand takes. The way your nipples pucker and ache at his touch through your dress, you’d think it was January and you were stuck outdoors without a shirt. You watch as his lashes reluctantly lift themselves to your face again.

“So all this,” his voice is rough and raspy, thumb ghosting back and forth over the hardened peak, “is his?”

“All of it.”

He watches how your brows squeeze together, how your mouth opens soundlessly when he brushes over your nipple. The low sound of approval that hums from deep in his throat is your favourite sound in the world. He bends his head, capturing the rigid nub with his mouth. The world goes blurry for a moment and he is rewarded with a deep gasp and a whimper, your hands threading through his hair, your back arching and he bites gently again. You hear yourself curse. Both your hands fumble, sliding down, finding the taut shirt around his waist trying to cling to something because he’s going to make you cum like this if he keeps it up. He pulls his mouth off enjoying the way your chest is heaving.

His fingertips skate over your bare shoulders and continue down your arms. Then the heat of his hands is gone only to reappear a second later, much lower on the bottom of your back. Taking a sudden hold of your ass he firmly drags you to the edge of the car. Your knees are forced apart as he settles himself between them.

“Is this his, too?” His hands dig into the swell of your ass hard enough to leave marks and he’s trying to keep his breathing under control. Rock solid denim comes into contact with your bare pussy, holding you firmly against him, rocking your hips and another breathless ‘fuck’ escapes from your throat.

“Answer.” His gravelly voice registers itself through the sharp throbbing between your legs.

Right. Your ass. Is it his…

“Yes.” you manage.

“And this too?” With one hand still anchoring him to you, he slips the other hand up over the top of your thigh, under the edge of your dress between your bodies reaching the needy place in question. Making a light stroke up and down along your slit with one finger, your stomach lurches, clenching at his contact. Selfishly, your hips roll against his fingertips, pressing as much of yourself against him as you can.

“F..uck …yes.”

"Eres mi vida,” his voice drops even lower. You’re mine. His endearment is not lost on you, they never are, nor is the fact that his brain shifts into Spanish without realizing it. And yeah, you were his.

The pad of his thumb traces a slower, deeper path through your wetness pressing over your entrance and then back up, digging and tripping the live wire of nerve endings at the top. The air stops in your lungs again, you need him to keep going, but he doesn’t. He’s gonna drag this out, damn him. Soaking wet and swollen, you force your eyes to stay open as he brings his thumb to his mouth.

You watch him lick your taste off his thumb, black eyes glazed over. He leans the bulk of his weight against the car, needing more, wanting even more than that. He rubs the same thumb over your bottom lip and you suck it into your mouth, tongue curling around it. The sensation of him in your mouth nearly sends you over the edge right then and there, the ache is so sharp. Realistically, you should be in awe that he’s able to keep his control like this, but you can’t bring yourself to care. All of this fucking madness and he’d not even kissed you yet.

“Do you remember the last time you were on the hood of this car?” His voice trickles slow and thick and oh christ, the combination of his thumb in your mouth and the memory of what he’s just said, elicits a sound halfway between a whimper and a sob. How could you fucking forget that night two weeks ago… on your way back from Doswell Fair… No sooner had you dropped off the last of the friends who’d tagged along that night, his hand had stretched across the front seat and slipped inside your panties. You’d dared him to keep driving. So he did. Not until he had you gasping and quivering around his two middle fingers, your legs shaking rendering you completely incoherent after only two orgasms, did he give in and pull over. You never did find your panties again that night.

His rough chuckle tickles your neck, effectively bringing you back to the muggy parking garage. His thumb leaves your mouth and his hand slides lower, lifting your jaw. His thumb and middle fingers stop when he’s found the spot on the narrow part of your neck, gently pressing into the raggedly thumping pulse watching your eyes grow hungrier, your breath blooming hot, shuddering. Releasing you after a long second, his fingertips slide behind your neck just under your hairline. 

Sweat is pooling inside your elbows, gathering behind your knees, you feel a single trickle down your neck, until his mouth captures it and he hums again into your skin, the scruff on his top lip leaving sparks of fire as he goes.

“Lucky for you,” you manage nuzzling the side of his jaw, “I don’t have panties have to lose tonight.”

“Good girl.” His little murmur of praise burns straight to your pussy as if you needed more blinding focus there. Two fingers on his other hand are separating your pussy, dragging a stripe up through your wetness stopping on either side of your clit, but not touching it. 

His mouth moves along your collarbone and lower, teeth digging, jaw scraping. When did he pull the thin threads of your neckline loose? He grasps the slackened low neckline between two fingers and slowly drags it down one side of you, stretching the drawstring open, uncovering your soft fullness. Bare skin open to the air, he lets go of the fabric and lifts his head, waiting, focusing on how overheated your skin is. 

He likes you exposed, he likes seeing how much you want him. He likes knowing that any moment someone might walk in here and catch him fucking his superior. A few torturous moments later, he licks his lips, wetting two fingers and you watch him drag the wet fingers over one swollen nipple, his fingertips softly demanding.

“Javi-,” you say his name in a soft breathless noise that comes from nowhere. It’s impossible not to. Instinctively, your legs squeeze around his thighs, pulling him closer. He grins against the overheated skin of your chest and starts teasing you with his mouth, rolling the hard flesh under his tongue. Blind with greed you grab his belt, pulling the buckle free. With one hand you thrust the button open and the force of your other hand slips inside and pushes the zipper down all by itself. The heaviness of his cock fills both palms and then some. He stops breathing and crumbles. “God, what you do to me.”

The urge to taste him is too much and you cannot help yourself. Swirling bead after bead of his wetness onto your fingers, you bring it to your tongue. The sinful look in his eyes tells you he cannot take it anymore. His mouth crashes against yours, no longer able to stay apart, wet and sloppy and urgent, he’s done holding back now.

There is nothing more delicious than this man and his desperation for you. Tugging him forwards, his boxers bunched around your knuckles, cradling the heavy tightness of him, your fingers gently reaching, pressing behind, the other hand collecting precum and painting it down the length of him. He sags against the car, the most pathetic moan hitting your ears and you know there will badge-shaped mark on the inside of your thigh later next to the imprint from his belt buckle. His forehead rests against yours for a second and he is a sight. Jeans hanging open, cock hard and wet, his jaw slack. 

“A week is too fucking long, baby.” His fingers snake back between your legs again, softly slipping inside without warning.

“Ohh, fuuck,” groaning with relief at the intrusion, inhaling his hot breath, you feel the deep rumble of his satisfaction in your mouth. The cords of his forearms slide under his skin as you hold his palm against you, he buries his fingers to the knuckles, gently curling his fingertips, staying there employing the use of his thumb. 

The “Ohhhh,” that falls from your mouth is high-pitched and breathy and obscene, your vision going fuzzy.

“F..uck,” his words muffled, “look at you..,” His teeth sink into the bottom of your neck leaving nothing but fire everywhere. 

“You wanna cum like this,” he groans, then slowly licks into your mouth. The pressure on your clit increases, demanding an answer.

"Yes…f-uck… please,” you’re cursing his name, your entire body a shuddering wreck, he knows it and he’s not letting up. You gasp, other words are coming out of your mouth but you have no idea what they are. His mouth is no longer absorbing your sounds. You need him to fuck you. Pressing all your weight onto his hand, his thumb adding staggering pressure from the outside and it feels like you’re splitting in half, tipping over the edge. The familiar burning wave blinds you, surges through every pore and nerve ending.

“That’s it, baby, cum for me, so I can fuck you on this car.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a native Spanish speaker and I blame google translate for any mistakes in translation. I welcome any corrections if you wish to let me know. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
